Strange Page

Outside my apartment window,

in the early morning hours,
I see the world, yet fail
to figure it out.

There’s a mild hustle,

a bustle, a light murmur
of activity of which I
don’t want a part.

There’s business types,

laborer types,
children, old people,
buses, cars, trucks, all
doing the things.

I wonder about their
motivations.  Is it for
family, for love, for
passion, for money,
for something to
fill the time before the
worms get them?

 

Do they have secrets?
Of course they have secrets.
Secret wishes, desires, hopes,
wants, dreams, plans. But
I mostly see their struggles
from my apartment window
perch.

 

How they go about life, why
they do it, it's like breathing
on the moon to me. I don’t
get it. And the more I
watch, the less I’m inclined
to join them.

My coffee’s ready. It’s hot.